


Ghosting Guilt

by The_Queen_Of_Angst



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, Depression, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Therapy, also sally is really pure but i felt the need to corrupt his somewhat happy persona, also why are you still in the tags read the fic already, guys get ready for a wild ride, vent (kind of??) not really tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 02:03:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14684142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_Of_Angst/pseuds/The_Queen_Of_Angst
Summary: Sally Fisher was an interesting character.your fault your fault your faultHis bright blue hair and eerie mask.your fault your fault your faultHe was strange, for sure.your fault your fault your faultBut he seemed happy.your fault your fault your faultAnd that was enough, right?





	Ghosting Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> im the queen of angst it's kinda my job to make you suffer

Nothing. Emptiness. A pure void of absolute numbness. What else could you expect from a boy who had seen so much in no less than 15 years? _Too much_. That’s what some would say. Too much horror and tragedy had been witnessed by the small blue haired boy.  
  
He didn’t care.  
  
He brushed it off, no biggie. He had seen worse. What he didn’t realize, however, were that all the things he was witnessing were deeply contributing to his internal struggle. How could he know?  
  
_He was only a kid._  
  
But he didn’t feel anything. Kids were outside, laughing, having fun. He tried that, once. Never again. Stares, mothers rushing children off the playground, taunts.   
  
Fear.  
  
The wretched prosthetic. _Why him_? He tried his best to let his internal features outshine his external ones. But how did that turn out? No amount of respect and happiness could cover up the bloody mask and conspicuous blue hair. It wasn’t his fault. New Jersey wasn’t his fault.   
  
Wasn’t moving away supposed to help him feel better? That’s what his dad said. Though, when was his dad ever right?   
  
_Son, are you okay?_ __  
__  
_Son, do you need anything?_ __  
__  
_Son, please tell me what’s wrong._ __  
  
I’m fine, dad.  
  
I’m alright, dad.  
  
Nothing’s wrong, dad.  
  
_Son, I signed you up for a therapist appointment._  
  
Did he care? If only....  
  
No amount of talking about emotions and prescribed medicine would make anything better. The blame. The guilt. The taunts. The overwhelming sense of shame every time he looked in a mirror. _Nothing_ could erase the feeling of being horrified every time you catch a glimpse of yourself in a window or puddle. The quick reminder of why everyone hated you. And you deserved it.   
  
_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._ __  
  
More medication. More white paper bags and orange plastic capsules. More tacky blue and red pills.   
  
Feeling like a puppet. Not really having control over your actions was an interesting feeling. Ghosting about your day, feeling as if you could lift both feel from the earth and glide with the wind.   
  
Ghosting would be nice. Ghost, spirit. Not living. How would one not be living? He had forgotten.   
  
He tried to forget. Ever since New Jersey  
  
Repressing memories and emotions seemed to be the only way these days...  
  
_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._  
  
How would one be not living?   
  
_It’s all your fault._  
  
A glance towards the white paper which concealed the orange which concealed the red and blue.   
  
His head snaps the opposite direction. The _fuck_ was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly....  
  
But then again… The guilt would be done. The pain... And the numbness. The fear. Being feared of. But that was selfish and cowardly, wasn’t it? What a stupid thought...  
  
_But it was all your fault._ __  
__  
Things started to decrease incredibly quickly. It got scary how rapid he was tumbling downhill.  
  
The next day, thoughts arose.  
  
The next day, they got worse.   
  
The next week, he stopped talking all together.  
  
The next month, his therapist gave up.  
  
The next week, he gave up the pills.  
  
It got worse. The only way it was bearable was the blood. And the pain. The only escape. The way it dripped and smeared around his scarred, pale, skin. He didn’t care if anyone judged him. _How the hell would they know what it was like?_ He didn’t choose this. He didn’t do anything to deserve this.   
  
Except he did. _It was his fault._ He deserved all of this plus more.  
  
Months like this. He had stopped going to school. Nobody seemed to care. His friends, the ghosts, his dad. They had all seemed to abandon the boy with a prosthetic face.   
  
It was all too much.   
  
Guilt.  
Suffering.   
Numbness.  
Everything.  
Overwhelming.  
  
_too much too much_  
  
I’m sorry   
  
No, I’m not.   
  
_yes, you are._   
  
He left no note.  
  
No one would read it anyways.  
  
No one would remember anyways.  
  
He would become a useless spirit who would haunt the building. Pathetic, isn’t it?   
  
He doubted anyone would find his body. No one would care; Those who used to fear or hate him had probably already forgotten him.   
  
So, he slipped off his prosthetic and slipped away from this realm with a quick step off the top floor.   
  
_And no one would stop him._ __  
  
The last thing the blue haired boy with a false face heard was a crack and a crunch before everything abandoned him for the final time.

**Author's Note:**

> guys im sorry (not really)  
> also did you catch how sal goes from saying how NJ wasn't his fault to it was all his fault?  
> >:)


End file.
